


weathered all my slings and arrows well

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sleepovers, because always, girl!matt - Freeform, lowkey D/s vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5877631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Inviting me to a sleepover?” Matt asks, smirking at her.</p><p>“Yeah,” Claire says. “We can paint our nails and talk about boys.”</p><p>“I’ll have to take your word on that,” Matt says. “I never went to one.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Claire asks, and oh, no. That’s basically the same voice Foggy uses when Matt lets something slip that’s apparently more traumatic to someone who didn’t grow up like she did. <i>Sewing up your dad’s face is not a touching family memory, Mattie.</i> Whatever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	weathered all my slings and arrows well

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO, I just rediscovered the first bit of this fic and speed wrote the rest of it. It's smut! 
> 
> Also, I'm going to start writing more femslash with like actual existing female characters, specifically for the Femslash Big Bang but also just in general, if you wanna, say, slide any fic ideas you'd like to see happen for ships like Karen/Claire, Jessica/Karen, other MCU people, maybe B99 crossovers or other fandoms idk [in my ask box](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com/ask), I will lovingly hoard them and slowly work on them for the rest of forever. Okay. <3

Matt crawls through Claire’s window a little after midnight, and Claire's already half out of bed, probably to drag out her first aid kit, before Matt drops to the ground and says, “Hey, no, I'm good.”

“You're good?” Claire asks, skeptically.

Matt smiles at her, shrugs.

“I mean, relatively,” she says. “I'm not bleeding?”

“Damn,” Claire says. “That's pretty good.”

She sits back down on her bed, watching as Matt pulls off her mask and then gathers her sweaty, fucked up hair into a ponytail. She moves closer to Claire, who waits a long moment before she pats the space beside her with a sigh. Matt drops down enthusiastically, smiling, accidentally elbowing Claire in the side.

“Sorry,” she says, laughing, touching a shaky hand briefly to Claire’s bare knee. “Too much adrenaline, at some point my limbs stop doing what I want ‘em to do.”

“What caused the adrenaline rush this time?” Claire asks. “Bring down a drug ring? Punch a crime lord? Little old lady needed help crossing the street?”

“Definitely one of those,” Matt says, because Claire doesn’t need to know that all she did tonight was stop a questionably talented mugger and almost trip and fall off of a roof. It happens. Everybody’s got off nights, and Matt’s about half and half, usually.

Claire also doesn’t need to know that at least half of the reason Matt’s heart is racing is because she can hear Claire’s heart doing the same when Matt opens her legs enough to knock their knees together. Which—doesn’t actually _mean_ anything. Play it cool, Murdock. She’s probably just freaked out that Matt crawled through her window in the middle of the night—without even calling first—because that’s not a thing that _normal people do_.  

She used to be better at presenting a passable imitation of being sane and normal—sometimes better than passable, even—but something about being in Claire’s presence makes all the charm disappear from Matt’s grasp and turn into nothing but sweaty palms.

Claire plucks at the sleeve of her shirt, making a soft _ugh_ noise in the back of her throat.

“If you’re planning on sticking around, you’ve got to get out of these clothes,” Claire says. “They’re soaked through with sweat, Matt.”

Matt almost chokes, very purposefully doesn’t say anything, very purposefully does _not_ pull her shirt off that instant even though her fingers nervously dig into the fabric as soon as Claire suggests it. 

“I probably have some clothes that will fit you,” Claire continues, unaffected as she stands up to dig through her dresser, like she doesn’t realize that Matt was thinking about being naked in her apartment, on her _bed._ “You’re seriously going to irritate the stitches I gave you barely three days ago if you spend your imaginary recovery time running around in wet clothes and punching people.”

“I didn’t break any of them,” Matt offers, maybe too eagerly—Claire lets off a soft laugh.

“Good girl,” she says, dryly, and Matt curls her toes in her boots, smiles weakly when Claire touches her arm and then hands her a small pile of folded clothing. “I’ll go make tea or something. You good to find the shower on your own?”

“Yeah, thank you, Claire,” Matt says, thinks about grabbing her hand and then doesn’t actually do it. She waits until Claire has left the room to get up, run her fingers over the furniture and wall to trace the way to Claire’s bathroom, wondering the whole time she’s peeling off her clothes and letting the water wipe away the last traces of the city from her skin if Claire would let her hold her hand.

*

Claire’s clothes are soft and worn and smell like her in ways that Matt’s pretty sure would creep Claire out to know—the scent of her skin underneath layers of scents that aren’t _her_ , just a barely there cling of sweat and sex that Matt gracefully doesn’t speculate on beyond the brief thought of Claire sprawled out alone, slipping a hand under the waistband of her sweatpants and pressing her fingers inside herself.

Matt should not be thinking about that, absolutely not, so instead she concentrates on picking out Claire’s heartbeat from the usual sounds—electricity, pipes, appliances humming, then _thump thump thump,_ calm and strong—and finishes towel-drying her hair before she walks out to the living room, the floor cold under her bare feet.

“Here,” Claire says, and Matt follows the motion of her voice to sit a few inches away from her on the couch.

She murmurs, “Thanks,” when Claire presses a mug of tea into her hands, wrapping her fingers around it and sipping gingerly.

They sit in silence, not quite comfortable, until Matt eventually asks, “You don’t want to know why I’m here?”

Claire pulls her legs up on the couch, turning with her back to the arm of it to sit facing Matt and gently poking her thigh with one of her feet, so Matt angles a smile towards her.

“You think I’m going to pass up an opportunity to see you all clean and pretty and not bleeding?” Claire asks, and she’s joking, Matt can hear the lilt in her voice, but the only thing her exhausted vaguely horny lizard brain picked up on was that Claire called her pretty. It makes her want to get close, pick up the scents from Claire’s skin that are woven into her clothes.

“I’m actually not sure why I’m here,” Matt says, shifting agreeably when Claire shoves her toes underneath her leg. “I’m glad you didn’t ask.”

“I don’t want to upset your general air of mystery,” Claire says. “You spending the night? I gave you my second most comfortable outfit, I’d hate to see it go to waste.”

“Inviting me to a sleepover?” Matt asks, smirking at her.

“Yeah,” Claire says. “We can paint our nails and talk about boys.”

“I’ll have to take your word on that,” Matt says. “I never went to one.”

“Seriously?” Claire asks, and oh, no. That’s basically the same voice Foggy uses when Matt lets something slip that’s apparently more traumatic to someone who didn’t grow up like she did. _Sewing up your dad’s face is not a touching family memory, Mattie_. Whatever.

“Weird childhood,” Matt says, casually, in lieu of a real explanation. “Absent mom, dead dad, Catholic orphanage—you know.”

“Wow, _that’s_ more personal information than I’ve gotten out of you in an entire month,” Claire says, “aside from the whole weird-ass ninja powers thing, obviously.”

“Oh, shit,” Matt says, sighing and smiling up at the ceiling. “My air of mystery.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Claire says. “Sleepovers are all about confessing your darkest secrets and hoping that your friends don’t tell everybody in homeroom the next morning.”

“Can I trust you?” Matt asks. Claire reaches up to brush her fingers over Matt’s ponytail before she tugs on it, lightly.

“Yeah, Matt, you can trust me,” she says, softly, letting go of it to squeeze Matt’s shoulder.

Matt hides her blush in the mug—or, at least, valiantly attempts it.

*

Claire actually paints Matt’s nails—goes to dig out nail polish from underneath her bathroom sink after Matt tells her that red is her favorite color. The smell close up makes Matt feel pitched and dizzy, but that might also have something to do with Claire holding her hand to keep it steady, thumb smoothing over the side of it every few seconds.

“There,” Claire says. “Blow on them.”

Matt does so agreeably.

“I’d offer to do yours,” she says, “but I don’t think it would end well.”

“Yeah, probably not,” Claire says. “That’s okay, though. We should probably get to bed.”

Claire sits with her until her nails are dry then lace their fingers together, pulling her to her feet and leading her towards her bedroom. Matt stops before they step inside, pulling her back a little so Claire stops and turns back.

“Claire,” she says. “I—”

She stops short and sighs, shaking her head.

“You just wanna kiss me and get it over with, Mattie?” Claire asks. She doesn’t let go of Matt’s hand. She _means_ it. Matt’s not sure that she remembers how to breathe, nevertheless how to kiss, but then Claire is stepping forward and Matt is stepping forward and she remembers.

“ _Claire_ ,” she says, again, overwhelmed.

“Is this why you came, Matt?” Claire asks, squeezing Matt’s hip.

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” Matt says. “I wouldn’t _presume_ —”

Claire interrupts her with a kiss, firm and close-mouthed, brushing her nose against Matt’s.

“Maybe start presuming,” she suggests, pulling Matt into the bedroom. Matt lets Claire push her around a little, arranging her where she wants on the bed, on her back with Claire hovering over top of her.

“Is this another thing that girls do at sleepovers?” Matt asks, a little breathlessly, raising her eyebrows.

“Certain types of girls,” Claire says, sliding a hand over Matt’s stomach, underneath her t-shirt.

“Girls like you?” Matt asks.

“Well, when you’ve got strict parents who don’t want you seeing boys, you’ve got to get a little creative,” Claire says, letting her other fingers tap against Matt’s cheekbone for a second before she slides them into her hair to say, soft and close to her ear, “Helps if you already like girls.”

Matt kisses her first this time, surges up to bite softly at Claire’s lip before she licks over it, moaning when Claire pushes into it. She runs her hands over Claire’s back, doesn’t feel a bra underneath her t-shirt. When she pushes up the bottom slowly, Claire sits up and pulls Matt with her, raises her arms so Matt can pull it over her head.

Matt’s hands are shaking when she gently cups Claire’s breasts, fingers sliding across her nipples, and Claire lets out a slow breath and says warmly, “The look on your face right now is kind of an ego boost, honestly.”

Matt grins at her and lets go to pull off the sweatshirt that Claire lent her, pushing up against her so their bodies press together and she can kiss her again, taste toothpaste and beer and everything she ate that day. Kissing is disgusting, sometimes, for her, but sometimes disgusting things are also spectacular.

“If I might presume,” she says, against Claire’s mouth, fingers dipping under the waistband of her pajama shorts.

“Feel free,” Claire says, dryly, and she arches up to let Matt pull them off of her and shifts around so she’s sprawled out on her back.

Matt presses a kiss to her throat, between her breasts, trails her lips down to bite lightly at the soft skin of her stomach so Claire laughs and squirms underneath her.

“Little further,” she says, dropping her hand to slide through Matt’s hair, pushing gently—Matt moans and drops down instantly when Claire opens her legs more, eagerly licking over her clit. Claire laughs more, sharply this time, slipping into a moan at the end.

“I’ve wanted to do this,” Matt says, muffled, with her mouth against Claire’s skin, “for _so long_.”

“You’ve known me a month,” Claire says.

“For a _month_ , then,” Matt says.

“Then do it,” she replies, but she’s smiling—Matt can hear it. She wants to climb back up and taste it, but she’s got better things to do, settling down between Claire’s legs and nosing against her cunt before she licks around her clit again. Matt’s not practiced at this, hasn’t had a lot of sex since she graduated and started spending all of her free time making the lives of various assholes slightly more difficult, but she’s enthusiastic and Claire clearly appreciates it. Her voice goes low as she says Matt’s name, calls her gorgeous, swears a hoarse line of words that Matt hopes that she’ll repeat.

Claire’s breath comes fast and heavy when she’s close, and then she’s rocking up and pushing Matt’s face down at the same time, gasping, “Fuck, Matt, I’m—oh, _Matt_.”

She shudders underneath Matt as she comes, blunt fingernails digging into Matt’s scalp. After she’s boneless, panting softly and heartbeat settling, Matt runs her tongue down to press it over delicate skin before licking inside of her, tasting her as deep as she can—making Claire jump and twitch, muffling a shout.

“Okay, god, enough, come here,” she says, voice shaky and earnest as she tugs at Matt’s hair, and Matt grabs her abandoned shirt to wipe off her face before she’s climbing on top of Claire to kiss her again. Claire’s knee slides up between Matt’s legs, and Matt shamelessly rocks down against her thigh, moaning wetly.

“Get on your back,” Claire says, into her mouth, and Matt immediately obeys, smiling questioningly when Claire makes a pleased noise.

“What?” she asks.

“I’m just surprised by how good you are at following orders,” Claire says, tracing her fingers over Matt’s stomach before curling fingers at the waistband of her sweatpants, pulling them off and tossing them aside. “Considering you’ve ignored me _every single time_ I’ve told you to take a day off.”

She straddles Matt’s hips to kiss her with one hand curled against her cheek, the other slipping down to press fingers to Matt’s clit, putting pressure on it but not moving.

“This is a better incentive,” Matt says, and Claire trails her lips down to bite at Matt’s neck, once, before she leans back up.

“I want you to fuck yourself while I touch you, okay?” she says, voice low, right next to Matt’s ear, and Matt makes an embarrassing broken noise. She shifts her hips, but Claire just presses down harder until Matt’s curling in on herself a little, sliding a finger inside herself.  Claire finally starts to touch her for real, telling Matt when to add fingers until she’s got three buried inside of herself, trying to match Claire's rhythm and completely failing. 

She comes quickly, always been kind of easy to get off but especially with Claire’s body covering hers, Claire’s voice vibrating through her bones. She clenches around her fingers when she comes, and Claire’s fingers move faster, wringing a long, stretched out moan out of Matt until she can’t take it anymore.

Claire shifts to collapse next to her, curling her body towards Matt, who’s never going to move again.

“Clearly,” Matt says, slowly. “I should have been attending these alleged sleepovers.”

Claire laughs, tipping her head to hide it against Matt’s neck.

“I’ll help you catch up on lost time,” she promises, and Matt pulls her close. She forgot to listen to her heart, but she’s pretty sure that she’s telling the truth.


End file.
